


(Nuh-Uh) I Got a Man

by beetle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Commodore, Dating, M/M, Sexual Harrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt by SassyThought (http://thatpilotpoe.tumblr.com/post/136385459062/also): What about someone coming to the base and being interested in Finn and Finn all flustered and lies “oh no, i already have a boyfriend”<br/>And later the person sees finn with poe and is like “so you are the boyfriend” and “you better be good to him cause if you let him go i’ll be here to snatch him up” and finn is just mortified and poe only pulls finn close like “not going to happen”<br/>Insert Finn all like panic while Poe is like “boyfriend huh?” All grinning and totally on board with it</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Nuh-Uh) I Got a Man

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for Episode VII. Also, this is kinda crack, with a serious face.

“Nice shootin’, out there,” a low voice with a pleasant brogue said softly, but still audibly over the blasters being fired.

 

Finn looked up from—unnecessarily, but meditatively—cleaning his blaster pistol and into a pair of striking grey-green eyes, and smiled. “Uh, thanks. It’s been a while since I practiced at a range. Since I was in any shape _to_ _practice_ at a range. But thanks for the compliment.” Finn smiled and slipped the blaster pistol into its holster, and held out his hand for shaking.

 

The other man—taller than Finn by a few inches, and no doubt older by a few years, as well . . . maybe even older than that, _still_ —took Finn’s hand and grinned, showing off even white teeth in a pale-olive face, surrounded by straight, shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair. He wore a functionary’s uniform, but unlike most of the New Republic’s functionaries, he also carried a blaster pistol. Two of them, in fact, in belts that crisscrossed his slim hips like some sort of gunslinger. A ridiculously attractive gunslinger.

 

Between his good looks, pistols, strong, but easy handshake, and the way he wore the dark-blue New Republic uniform, Finn felt young, small, and grubby in proximity to such a person. All his clothes were Resistance-issue, except for the jacket Poe had given him, which was rather much worse for wear after his saber battle with Kylo Renn. The shoulder still had the hole in it from when Ren had burned him with his crossguard lightsaber.

 

Under the jacket was an olive drab sweater—in deference to the recent chill in the air—which had doubtlessly belonged to someone else before it belonged to Finn. Under _that_ , well, he wore the ubiquitous grey overalls and work boots that all low-level workers, functionaries, and personnel on the base wore.

 

Underneath _that_ was light thermal underwear. Which was nobody’s business except the quartermaster’s and Finn’s.

 

“—your name?” the spiffily dressed functionary was asking, his expression one of amusement, his strong, rough hand still holding Finn’s, though not shaking it. His gaze roamed unabashedly up and down Finn’s warmly layered form. “I’ve seen you around Base a few times since I got here last week, but I never get the chance to say ‘hi.’” Those green eyes made it up to Finn’s face again, and the other man’s smile turned wry. “I’m Severn Andrades. And I’m very pleased to at last meet you, er. . . .”

 

“Oh. Uh.” Finn blushed and retrieved his hand, then shoved both in the pockets of his overalls. “I’m Finn.” And then, when Severn Andrades seemed to be waiting for a second name, Finn blushed. “Uh, _just_ Finn.”

 

“Hmm . . . is that a first name or a last name?”

 

Finn shrugged uncomfortably, and said what he always said to people who remarked on his lack of a second name: “It’s the only name I’ve got.”

 

Severn Andrades’ eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Let me guess . . .  your parents don’t know you’ve run away to join the Resistance, and you keep your first—or is it last?—name secret so no one will figure out who you really are?”

 

Finn shrugged again, nonchalantly, but he always hated questions like that from the vast majority of the Base, who didn’t know he’d been a Stormtrooper, and so had no qualms and felt no discomfort when it came to asking Finn about himself. “My parents are probably dead, so I doubt they know much of anything, anymore. Anyway, it was, uh, nice to meet you, uh . . . sir,” he added, just to be on the safe side, since he still couldn’t tell what all the insignias and epaulets meant in the New Republic.

 

Finn started to turn and walk away, but Severn Andrades caught his arm. “Wait—Finn—I’m . . . terribly sorry. Sometimes I let my mouth run away with my brain.” He smiled—a very charming smile that did strange things to Finn’s stomach—and his hand trailed down Finn’s arm, letting go as his fingertips brushed Finn’s fingers. “All I meant by that was—I’m curious about you, and would love to get a chance to learn more about you. If I haven’t bollocksed up my chance at making a good impression, that is.”

 

“Curious?” Finn asked, confused, and feeling as if maybe he should be insulted. But Severn Andrades just kept smiling, and not breaking their gazes. No, _Finn_ was the one to do _that_ , looking away and blushing for no reason. “About _me_? Why?”

 

Severn Andrades chuckled, low and rich. “Well, let’s just say that when a young man with a mysterious past shoots like _you_ shoot—not to mention looks like you _look_ —I find that my interest is . . . easily peaked.” His smile, when Finn was brave enough to glance up, was more of a wry, crooked half-smile than that charming grin.

 

“Like I shoot? Like I look?” Finn shook his head and said the phrase he'd been saying with regularity over the past six months. “I don’t understand.”

 

Severn Andrades’ eyebrows lifted again in surprise and his smile faded. “Well. I’m clearly no longer at the top of my game when it comes to flirting with handsome young men,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

 

Finn blinked. Then blinked again. Then glanced behind himself, just in case Severn Andrades was talking to someone standing behind him. But nope. No one there. Brow still furrowed in confusion, Finn turned back to a patiently waiting Severn Andrades. “What, ah, do you mean by ‘flirting’?”

 

The other man grinned again. “Do they not yet have flirting on the planet you come from?”

 

Scowling, thinking he was being mocked, now, Finn stood ramrod straight and focused as opaque a gaze as he possibly could on the air directly above Severn Andrades’s right shoulder. He made his face as much of an unreadable mask as he was able and answered Severn Andrades the way he might have answered Phasma, or Hux, or even Kylo Ren: with the absolute truth, minus any and all traces of sarcasm and personality. “I didn’t grow up on a planet, sir. I grew up aboard ships of the fleet. The First Order fleet. Never saw dirt-side until a few months ago.”

 

Now, Severn Andrades looked completely nonplussed. “Oh,” he said, then: “Bloody hell, I really _have_ lost my knack for talking to handsome young men. I—hang on, a minute . . . _Finn_! You’re the lad who defected from the First Order—er, is that right?”

 

Sighing silently, Finn, still at attention, nodded. “Yes, sir, uh—commander?”

 

Severn Andrades smiled blandly. “Actually, it’s commodore. And there’s no need to drag rank into this. We’re just a couple of acquaintances having a bit of chit-chat.” He smiled again, apologetically, this time. “Or we were, until I insisted upon swallowing my foot up to the calf.”

 

None of which was a question or a command, and thus required no input from Finn. He blinked, but otherwise kept his focus on the air above Commodore Andrades’ shoulder.

 

The commodore sighed again, running his hand through his shiny, red-gold hair. “Listen, Finn—I’d really appreciate a second chance to make a first impression, yeah? Would you care to join me tonight at the officer’s dining room?”

 

Surprised, Finn met the commodore’s grey-green eyes for a moment before looking away again. “Join you, sir?”

 

“Please, call me 'Andy'.”

 

Finn’s brow furrowed once more. “I—I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. It’d be insubordination.”

 

“Even if I _command_ you to call me ‘Andy’?” That twinkle of amusement was back in the commodore’s voice. Finn risked another glance at the man. Yes, he was amused. But Finn was not.

 

“I’ll do whatever you command me to do, sir,” he said, in the hopes that the commodore would be satisfied with that and just let him _be_.

 

The commodore’s eyes, almond shaped and wide-set, widened in fake-shock. “Oh, so many _delightful_ ways to interpret that. . . .”

 

Finn set his face in a carefully blank expression, his default expression for when he sensed a joke was being made at his own expense. One he didn't quite get. “If you say so, sir.”

 

The commodore’s smile faded. “You’re really going to keep up this impenetrable Stormtrooper-façade, aren’t you?”

 

“Sir?”

 

“And you’re probably not likely to start calling me ‘Andy’ if I _order_ you to let me take you on a dinner-date, hmm?”

 

Finn was confused again. “Um . . . what’s a dinner-date?” he asked, thinking of a day set aside for and spent doing nothing but eating dinner. It sounded extravagantly wasteful to someone who’d grown up on protein rations and shakes and vitamins . . . to someone for whom so-called _normal food_ was pointless.

 

Now, the commodore looked shocked for real. “You don’t know what a dinner-date is?”

 

“I don’t really eat dinner. Or any of the other meals.” Off the commodore’s shocked look, Finn felt the need to explain himself. “I mean, I eat, but I prefer to eat protein rations. It’s faster and more efficient.”

 

The commodore was shaking his head. “Well, yes, but . . . they _taste_ —” he made a face.

 

“Taste is an indulgence the First Order never let us explore,” Finn said, shrugging. The commodore sighed.

 

“Finn—you do realize you’re not with the First Order, anymore, right?”

 

Suddenly angry and unable to force it back down, to be felt and examined later, Finn—taken by a rage that had been building in the six months since he’d woken up on the Base, to see Poe Dameron and BB-8 there by his side—turned away from the commodore and tried to at least control his breathing, if he could control nothing else.

 

“I know this isn’t the First Order, sir. Everyone reminds me of it every day. It’s in the way almost everyone treats me, looks at me, and talks to me. Like they’re waiting for me to whip out a blaster and kill them all, while laughing maniacally.” Finn glanced back at the commodore, who was watching him solemnly. “If this was the First Order, I’d be a sergeant by now, leading troops on missions. Not wasting my days sitting around, hoping someone will trust, or at least pity an ex-Stormtrooper and give him a busy-work errand. I’d never be lonely at night because my brothers and sisters would be in bunks near my own. They’d know me and I’d know them, and none of us would feel like outsiders. So, yeah.” He turned away again. “I know this isn’t the First Order. I knew _that_ misery very well. I was used to it. Here, the misery is entirely new to me. I can’t sleep at night and I have no brothers and no sisters.”

 

And with that, Finn made for the shooting range exit. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the door, and thence on the way to the main hangar—because _there_ , at least, was one person who was glad to see Finn. And if Poe thought Finn was weird, he kept that opinion between himself and BB-8—when he heard the commodore’s brogue calling after him.

 

He hesitated, but didn’t stop. For he’d just realized he was in a unique position. Neither sworn in to the Resistance, nor part of the New Republic, he was a free agent. He didn’t have to take orders—or anyone’s shit—if he didn’t want to. After all, what could they do to him? Imprison him? His life was already a prison. Because he was so well-known a traitor, he wasn’t safe anywhere but on D’Qar Base.

 

Would the commodore deprive him of the little luxuries so many on the Base seemed to prize? Such as special rations, credits, or even the illicit drug, Intensity, in which so many of the Resistance liked to indulge? Hah! Finn had no interest in special rations, no interest in credits he couldn’t spend because he was trapped on-planet, and no interest in losing control of his faculties. He’d spent the first twenty-two years of his life with the _First Order_ controlling his faculties. He didn’t plan to ever lose control of himself—of _his_ _self_ —like that again.

 

So, Finn kept walking, disobeying the commodore’s implorations to “Wait!”

 

But before he stepped out into the cool evening air, Commodore Andrades caught up with him, taking his arm. “Damnit, I said _wait_! Don’t you understand Basic?”

 

Finn didn’t even give the commodore the satisfaction of a truculent expression. Just stared at the man with no readable emotion on his face. _My face is my Stormtrooper helmet,_ he told himself _. If I keep it perfectly still, no one can tell what I’m thinking or feeling_.

 

Indeed, the commodore searched his face intently for a minute before sighing again.

 

“Look,” he said quietly. “We’ve got off on the wrong foot, and that’s entirely my fault, for attempting to cozen and charm, rather than being straightforward and honest.”

 

Commodore Andrades let go of Finn’s arm, but stepped closer until Finn had to look up into his eyes.

 

“Finn, I—” pausing, the commodore chuckled ruefully. “My goodness, honesty and plain-speaking are not my strength, but,” licking his lips nervously, the commodore took Finn’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I think you’re bloody gorgeous. Dead-sexy. And ever since the first time I saw you, I’ve been wanting to get to know you. And now that I know that you’re _the_ _Finn_ who helped save the galaxy, I want to know you even more.”

 

Looking down at his hand held in the commodore’s, Finn frowned. “Why?”

 

“Did you not hear the part where you’re gorgeous and sexy and saved the galaxy?” The commodore snorted, pulling Finn closer by his hand. Finn went reluctantly, until he was in the commodore’s personal bubble, and the commodore was in his. The other man’s free hand settled on Finn’s waist before sliding around to the small of his back . . . then down further to the curve of his ass.

 

Finn’s eyes grew wide. “Uh. . . .”

 

“I want you, Finn,” Commodore Andrades whispered, leaning in and down until his forehead touched Finn’s. “That’s the plain truth of it. I want you in every way I can have you.”

 

“You mean . . . like, for _sex_?” Finn asked in a tiny, unfamiliar voice.

 

“Among other things,” the commodore replied huskily. “ _Many_ other things. But yes, I want to be your lover.”

 

“I—I—”

 

“Hmm—I think I know the answer to this, but . . . are Stormtroopers allowed to have lovers?”

 

“Noooo.” Finn’s answer came out on a held breath as Commodore Andrades’ hand slid down a bit more, squeezing Finn’s ass. It felt . . . strange. Though Finn couldn’t tell whether it was good-strange or bad-strange.

 

“And have _you_ ever had a lover? Ever been in love?”

 

Thinking, for some reason, of FN-2003, and the way the other Stormtrooper had always been quick with a joke or comfort or whatever Finn had needed, whenever Finn had needed it, once upon a time, Finn closed his eyes on sudden tears. Even in his last moments on Jakku, FN-2003 had given Finn the kick in the ass he’d needed to have a complete paradigm shift. One that had lead him on a fantastic journey which, though it didn’t end in happily ever after, was still better than the First Order, and slaughtering innocents on a regular basis.

 

FN-2003 . . . who, when he wasn’t wearing his helmet, had just been a sandy-haired guy with keen, fine features and an infectious smile. The guy who, when they were both fifteen, had given Finn—the then FN-2187—his first and only kiss.

 

When their unit leader had found out about the kiss, FN-2187 had gotten what amounted to a slap on the wrist since he had not been the instigator. FN-2003, however, had gotten sent off for re-education and eventually was put on a special suppressor—most of the boys and no few of the girls were also on similar suppressors—to quash his nascent sexuality. He’d never spoken familiarly to FN-2187 again, let alone kissed him. And that forced separation had felt like FN-2187’s heart had been cracked into pieces like a clay jug, disclosing only bitterness and pain.

 

Seven years later, in the ass-end of Jakku, FN-2003 had died on those suppressors, in FN-2187’s arms. . . .

 

“No, I’ve never had a lover,” Finn said softly, and went on even though the next part felt like a lie. “And I’ve never been in love.”

 

The commodore tsked. “That’s a shame.” He leaned back and looked Finn in the eyes. “Well, if you’re looking to garner some experience in either or both arenas, I’d like to volunteer.”

 

“What?”

 

Commodore Andrades smiled absently. “I’d like to be your lover, if you’re in the market for one.” He moved closer again, until all Finn could see was a sea of grey-green. “I’d like to help you discover the touch your body’s been missing. To teach you how to best please yourself and others. Bloody Hell, I’d sell my own soul just to see you sprawled in my bed, on satin sheets, looking dazed and well-fucked.”

 

“I—I—” Finn’s eyes widened as the commodore moved closer, still, until their lips touched softly. Surprised, Finn jerked away, pulling himself out of the commodore’s arms and backing away till he hit the wall next to the door. The door opened onto the chilly evening, and the wind gusted in beautifully dead leaves.

 

The commodore smiled and held out his hand as if he expected Finn to take it.

 

“I want to be your lover, Finn.”

 

“I—uh . . . can’t.”

 

Commodore Andrades snorted. “Of _course_ you can. It’s quite easy. I’d be happy to show you.”

 

“ _No_! I mean—I really _can’t_ —no, I _shouldn’t_! That’s it, I _shouldn’t_ , because I already _have_ a lover and, uh . . . _he?_ Would be really upset if I took _another_ lover. Yeah. ‘Cause we’re . . . super exclusive.”

 

The commodore was still smiling, but it no longer reached his eyes. “Ah. I see,” he said flatly.

 

“Yeah,” Finn said, shrugging nervously, glancing out the door into the well-lighted Base. “And he’s expecting me to go see him. You know. So we can, um, have lots of sex. _Lots_ of sex,” Finn added, nodding. “So, I should really go. . . .”

 

“Oh, yes. Of course. I, er, wouldn’t want to keep you from all the sex you’ll be having tonight,” the commodore said sardonically, disbelievingly.

 

Finn drew himself up proudly. “I totally have a boyfriend and we’re gonna start having tons of sex. Like, every _week_ , even.”

 

The commodore didn’t even dignify that with an answer. So Finn began backing toward the door, pulling Poe’s jacket close around him, to shield him from the chill at his back and the nearly matching chill coming at his front.

 

“Yep! Off I go! To have all the sex!” Grinning so wide it felt like his face would crack in two, Finn kept backing up until he was out in the bracing fresh air. But so intent was he on keeping up the smile in the face of the commodore’s utter disbelief and offense, that he didn’t look where he was going and crashed into some idiot who clearly wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, either.

 

“Hey!” he squawked when strong hands caught his biceps and kept him from falling over. “Watch where you’re going!”

 

“Sorry, Finn, that’s my bad. Sorry,” a familiar voice said as Finn was righted without any assistance from himself. “I was multi-tasking: walking and looking at a data reader at the same time. Good thing I wasn't also chewing gum.”

 

“Poe!” Finn exclaimed with massive relief. He turned to face the pilot, who was indeed frowning down at a palm-sized data reader in his left hand. Then he was looking up at Finn and smiling . . . though the smile faded when he saw the rictus of a grin his friend was wearing. At his heels, as ever, BB-8 beeped and tweeted and booped something that sounded like a question.

 

“Yeah, my thoughts, exactly. What’s up, Finn?”

 

Glancing over his shoulder, Finn saw the door to the shooting range opening again as Commodore Andrades came out and started walking towards them. _Shit_!

 

“I’ll explain it later. In the meantime, let’s get _outta_ here.”

 

“Uh . . . okay,” Poe said, letting Finn take his arm and all but drag him off toward the mess hall, BB-8 zipping along at their heels. Though they didn’t get very far before the commodore hailed them both by name.

 

“Finn! Commander Dameron! A moment of your time, please!”

 

Finn would’ve kept walking but Poe stopped, turned, and saluted in one smooth motion. “Commodore Andrades.”

 

Finn composed his face into a smile and turned to face the commodore, too. The man was taking his sweet time sauntering up to them, his gaze on Poe as if he was sizing the pilot up.

 

“So . . . the infamous Poe Dameron has finally been caught,” Commodore Andrades finally said, that wry amusement making a return. He’d stopped a polite distance away from Finn and Poe, but held out his hand to Poe for shaking. Poe took it without hesitation.

 

“Caught?” he asked, shooting a puzzled glance at Finn, who suddenly had a very bad feeling.

 

“Yes, by this handsome, young rake.” The commodore nodded at Finn, who blushed so hard, it burned. “When he told me he had a boyfriend, I never imagined it was _you_. Not with _your_ reputation and track-record.”

 

“Uh.” Finn shot Poe another glance, panicked and pleading _._

_Just go along with it, Poe. Please?_

 

And perhaps Poe was a little psychic, because a moment later, he was turning to face the commodore once again, his free hand linking with Finn’s and squeezing reassuringly.

 

“Well . . . Finn’s a special guy. Not another like him in the universe.” Poe, without letting go of Finn’s hand, wrapped his arm around Finn’s waist and pulled him close. So close that Finn could feel Poe’s body all along his left side. “Anyone else’d be a step down.”

 

“Indeed.” The commodore sniffed and his gaze darted between the two of them, intently, searching for—something.

 

Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, for he sighed and shook his head, smiling a little. Ruefully, wryly. “Well, then, my apologies, Finn, for my . . . churlish behavior.” The commodore nodded back toward the shooting range before he bowed slightly. “I tend to lose my head around gorgeous men. Dameron, here, knows what that’s like.”

 

Surprised, Finn looked over at Poe, his eyes wide. But the pilot was blushing furiously and not meeting Finn’s eyes. Instead, he bit his lip and said: “I do. I _did_. Until Finn and I got together. When I’m with him, it’s like the rest of the galaxy doesn’t even exist, let alone the people looking to ride the Dameron-coaster. Nope. Finn’s my baby, and I’m not gonna let anyone get in between us, Commodore Andrades. _Anyone_.”

 

“Indeed?” the commodore asked again, that wry, bitter smile getting even more wry and more bitter when Poe nodded once. “Yes, well. I certainly hope you manage to remember that. Because the moment you slip up or let him go, is the moment . . . some other lucky fellow’ll move in on your territory.”

 

Poe chuckled, pulling a mortified and fiercely blushing Finn even closer, leaning in to kiss the ex-Stormtrooper’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t be slipping up or letting him go anytime soon. In fact, I’m _never_ letting this one go.”

 

“Hmph. Famous last words. Though one wishes you two all the best. Congratulations. And enjoy all the sex,” the commodore added to Finn, giving the pair another measuring look before turning and striding off towards the infirmary.

 

Finn, certain his blush could be seen despite his dark skin, didn’t dare to look at Poe. Not even when Poe said his name gently. Finn yanked his arm free and started off toward the mess hall. He fully intended to get his protein rations and shake, and consume both in the privacy of his tiny quarters.

 

“Hey, wait—where do you think you’re going, lover-boy?” Poe called, and hurried after Finn, quickly catching up, BB-8 with him. “ _What_ in the Maker’s Mark was all _that_ about?”

 

“Nothing,” Finn gritted out and accelerated his pace. Poe and BB-8, however, kept up.

 

“Why’d you tell Commodore Asshole I was your boyfriend?” Poe asked, sounding concerned, but not angry or even disdainful. Finn spared a quick glance at Poe, to see his friend’s face wasn’t set in lines of anger, but of worry.

 

Finn crossed his arms and slowed his walk. “I . . . he . . . I didn’t tell him you were my boyfriend. He just saw us together and assumed that you were, thank the Maker.”

 

“Hmm,” Poe said, and BB-8 beeped something up at him. “BB-8’s got a good point. Why was it necessary that the Commodork think you have a boyfriend?”

 

Finn’s face went up in flames again. “He . . . said he wanted to be my lover.”

 

A muscle near at Poe’s jaw tightened as the pilot grit his teeth for a few moments. “Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah. He even tried to kiss me. But I didn’t let him.”

 

“Good. _Very_ good.” Poe nodded, that muscle spazzing along his jaw and a vein at his temple throbbing visibly. “He’s nothing but trouble. He’ll bed anything with a pulse.”

 

“Gee, thanks.” Finn started walking fast again and Poe caught up.

 

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ , Finn, I just meant that he’s serially unfaithful. He could be sleeping with the Maker and still wanna fuck any pretty face he came across.” Poe groaned. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before he noticed _you_. We just have to find a way to keep him off you, literally and figuratively.”

 

Frowning, Finn looked at Poe, who once again looked worried. “But . . . he thinks I have a boyfriend. _You_. That’s the end of it, right?”

 

“Uh, not hardly.” Poe smiled limply. “Commodore Andrades didn’t get to where he is by giving up easily. Sooner or later he’s gonna figure out we’re not really lovers and the chase’ll be on again.”

 

“Damnit!”

 

“That about sums it up.”

 

Finn ran a hand over his hair. “Maybe . . . maybe I should get a _permanent_ boyfriend, then.” he ventured. Poe all but growled.

 

“No! You’re _not_ getting a—I mean, I wouldn’t trust a single soul not to take advantage of the situation, or just be too busy or intimidated by ‘Call-Me-Andy’ Andrades to keep up the ruse for very long.”

 

Finn sighed, imagining fighting off the Commodore’s advances for the rest of the war, and shuddered. Something about the man irked him. Rubbed him the wrong way. “Then what can I do? I have no options. I can’t skip links in the chain of command to complain about him. And even if I could, no one’s gonna believe me over a freaking _commodore_.”

 

BB-8 booped and wahhh-ed and beeped, and Poe stopped dead in his tracks, looking down at the little droid. “BB-8—no, that’s . . . ridiculous. He’s my buddy, not—well . . . maybe. Sometimes. Okay, _often_. Okay, _very_ often. But that’s neither here nor there. I know what I’m made of, and it _ain’t_ boyfriend material.”

 

More droid-noises were immediately forthcoming, and Poe sighed gustily. Finn, meanwhile, darted his gaze between droid and master, completely out to sea and not happy about it.

 

“What’s he saying?” he demanded of Poe, who was, oddly enough, blushing. And though he stole glances at Finn, he wouldn’t face him.

 

“He, ah . . . nothing. Nothing. Just beeps and boops and nonsense. You know droids,” Poe said with an even limper version of his previous limp smile.

 

More beeps and boops from BB-8 . . . angry sounding ones. Finally, Poe groaned again and pointed back toward the main hangar. “Go see if one of the other pilots needs a hand, will ya?”

 

[BEEP.]

 

And with that, the little droid extended his electric prod and zapped Poe on the calf. The pilot yelped and hopped around on one foot, swearing and complaining, until Finn started to laugh. Poe immediately noticed and stopped his antics, glaring.

 

“You think it’s funny, huh? Bein’ zapped by my own droid?”

 

Finn shrugged, still grinning. “From the sound of things, you deserved it.”

 

BB-8 tweeted and blipped. Finn took that as agreement. And Poe gave them both the stink-eye, and muttered something under his breath.

 

“What— _what_ did you say?” Finn asked, and Poe, who’d been rolling up the leg of his dark trousers, and examining the coin-sized, reddened area on which he’d been shocked, looked up at Finn and bit his lip again.

 

“I said . . . that’s the last time we bring a droid on a date. On our second date, it’s just you and me.” And off Finn’s confused look—what did dates have to do with the price of jelly beans on Jakku?—Poe said: “You know? On our dates? When we’re dating? You and me, going on dates?”

 

Finn shook his head. “Do you mean dates as in days, or as in the fruit?”

 

Poe’s eyebrows drifted halfway to his hairline. “Uh, neither. I mean dates as in _outings_. When two people like each other in a . . . romantic way, they spend the early days of their relationship going on outings together. Seeing stuff, doing stuff, holding hands, kissing—all that good stuff. It’s called going on _dates_ , or _dating_.”

 

“ _Oh_.” Finn shook his head and laughed. “So _that’s_ what the commodore meant!” He laughed again, then it tapered off as he looked at Poe. “That’s what _you_ meant, too! You want to _date me_!”

 

Poe blushed, but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not really the dating type—the longest relationship I ever had was when I five, and Llyr Banisadr let me hold his hand when we walked to school in the mornings and home in the afternoon. That lasted for almost three weeks. Till I started holding Nessos Drasa’s hand at lunch and sleeping next to him at naptime.” He rolled his pants leg down. “My point being, I’m not good at dating. And _you_ —Well, I’m doubting there were many opportunities to date aboard the _Finalizer_.”

 

“Nope, there weren't. I've never ben on a date. That's just another way I don’t fit in or belong around here.” Finn shrugged, feeling vaguely embarrassed and completely naïve. Poe approached him slowly, smiling.

 

“Why would you wanna fit in with a bunch of drones and droids . . . when you were born to be special?”

 

“ _Me? Special?_ ” Finn snorted. “Poe, if you knew how many Stormtroopers there are that are _just like_ _me_ —”

 

“There _are_ no Stormtroopers like you, Finn. There’s _nobody_ like you.” Poe was inside Finn’s personal bubble which, unlike when Commodore Asshole did it, didn’t feel somehow vulgar, wrong, and scary. It felt proper, right, and good. Looking into Poe’s hazel eyes made Finn feel brave and wonderful, as if he really _was_ special.

 

A _hero_.

 

Finn reached up and brushed his fingers down Poe’s cheek. The other man closed his eyes as if to savor the touch.

 

“I . . . I don’t think I’d mind dating, or having a boyfriend . . . a _lover_ , if that person was _you_ ,” Finn admitted quietly, and Poe opened his eyes and smiled. For Finn, that smile was like the sun rising suddenly in the middle of the night. It was—

 

 _—everything_.

 

Poe took Finn’s hand, linking their fingers together as he gazed into Finn’s eyes, his own brimming with wonder and warmth. “And I don’t think _I’d_ mind dating or having a boyfriend . . . having _constant companionship_ , if that person was _you_.” He nodded toward the mess hall. “Now, shall we continue this date where it left off?”

 

Finn grinned and nodded, letting Poe pull him close enough to lean their foreheads together. His hands settled on Finn’s hips. “First thing’s first, though . . . I’d really like to kiss you. Right now. I’ve been wanting to since . . . that first moment I saw you wearing my jacket.”

 

“If you want it back—” Finn started. Poe laughed.

 

“I meant what I said, Finn: _keep it_. I like the idea of something that was mine keeping you warm . . . maybe reminding you of me when I’m not here. Besides,” Poe brushed a bit of sweater-lint off the lapel of the jacket. “It looks so damned _good_ on you.”

 

“It looked good on you, too, you know,” Finn said, blushing again.

 

“Yeah, but it looks better, still, on _you_. The only way it could possibly look any better would be if it was on the floor of my quarters.” Poe gave Finn an intent once-over before grinning. “Along with the rest of your clothes.”

 

Finn’s brow furrowed. “But why would my clothes be on the floor of your holy _Maker’s Mark_ you mean because we’ll have had sex and left clothes laying around on the floor!” He covered his red-somewhere-under-that-complexion face and laughed. He peeked through his fingers and saw Poe waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “Wow . . . um. You should probably know I’ve never had sex.”

 

“Oh, I know. I got the virgin-vibe from you the moment we met. Plus, virgins never get that joke about the clothes on the floor right off.” Poe shrugged, still waggling his eyebrows and grinning. He tilted his head at an angle and leaned in close. “Anyway . . . where were we? Ah, yes, I was about to kiss you.”

 

“Yes, you were.” Finn said shyly, then sighed as Poe got even closer, his hands sliding up to Finn’s waist for one squeeze before sliding around to his ass. Two squeezes, and Poe pulled Finn flush against him. Finn practically squeaked. “You should also probably know that I’ve only ever kissed one person, so . . . I mean. Don’t expect me to be any good, ‘cause I don’t know anything about kissing or sex or any of it, and—mmph!”

 

Poe shut Finn up by the quickest expedient in the known universe. At first, Finn was stock still, stiff as a board in Poe’s arms. But then, as the kiss went on, he relaxed into it, into Poe’s embrace, following Poe’s lead, for once, his arms sliding around Poe’s neck.

 

When the kiss ended with several smaller, sweeter kisses, Poe rubbed the tips of their noses together. "Wow."

 

“Yeah . . . that's a pretty good description of how I'm feeling right now. But, um . . . how was it for you? I mean, how’d I do?” Finn asked tentatively. Poe chuckled.

 

“You’re not being graded on this, babe!”

 

“But if I _was_ being graded, what would I get—like, in percentages?” Finn asked anxiously.

 

Poe rolled his eyes. “Well. I’d say eighty percent. You’re a good kisser—a natural—but there’s room for improvement.”

 

Finn’s face fell and he looked away. But Poe turned his face back and kissed the tip of his nose. “That was your second kiss _ever_. You’re still learning, Finn, _that’s_ why there’s room for improvement. And the more you kiss, the better you'll get. So, don’t worry: whatever you don’t know,” Poe smiled eagerly. “Whatever you don’t know, I’ll be more than glad to teach you. I have a feeling you’ll be a quick study.”

 

“Really?” Finn allowed a cautious ray of hope to shine in his crumpled heart and worried mind when Poe nodded. “Okay. Then teach me _everything_ you know.”

 

Poe grinned and nodded toward the distant mess hall. They started walking again, BB-8 whirring and beeping happily by their side. “Lesson the first: Always load up on carbs and protein _before_ sex, or you’ll have to get up during the afterglow to run to the mess, and that’s just not on. Lesson the second: Before sex, always stash a couple of damp washcloths in a tray or plate by the bed. That way, no one has to wreck the afterglow by getting up to hit the head for something to clean up with. Lesson the third. . . .”

 

**END**


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